


Oh My Love, Please Don't Cry

by CaffeinatedMoose



Series: Bangs and Fic Events [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Murder-Suicide, Non-Hunting AU, Wincest Big Bang 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 13:05:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4747508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaffeinatedMoose/pseuds/CaffeinatedMoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Submitted to the  2015 Wincest Big Bang. Art by amberdreams)<br/>Sam had been following his big brother around his whole life, as soon as he learned how to walk. They were really close for most of their lives. To Sam, his big brother Dean was everything. When they got older, they started to grow apart, moved out on their own. But, Sam never stopped caring about his older brother. And that was how he found himself parked outside Dean's apartment tonight. It never seemed odd to him, to keep following his brother around like this. The only difference was, Dean didn't know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh My Love, Please Don't Cry

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Based the song Bloody Valentine by Good Charlotte, and inspired by the show Dexter. Listening to the Dexter 'Blood Theme' on repeat for hours helped me get a lot of this story written. I'd like to thank our wonderful mod for keeping my spirits up when I was stuck near the end, my buddy RaeLaser for giving me some ideas, and for the amazing amberdreams for the accompanying artwork! Also, a shoutout to carrionofmywaywardson for looking up how fast people die by bloodloss cause I was too chickenshit to google it myself. So, thanks!
> 
> Watch it, this gets pretty dark near the end.

Art by [amberdreams](http://amberdreams.livejournal.com/)

 

  
  
Sam ducked down when a sleek blue car pulled up behind him. The doors opened, and he immediately recognized the sound of his brother's laughter, followed by another low voice. Sam pulled the hood of his jacket up as he peered through his car window to see his brother and another man walking up the steps towards the apartment building, Dean's hand linked through the man's. They paused at the door and faced each other. Sam couldn't hear what was said, but his brother was beaming, and then the man with dark hair and brilliant blue eyes drew him close, leaning in for a kiss. He could swear Dean blushed as the other man pulled away. Sam's entire body tensed up as he watched the affectionate display.  
  
Sam dug in his glove compartment for a switchblade he kept for self-defense, but paused and hid the knife under his jacket, turning away when the stranger passed him. The man got into his car and pulled away.  
  
Who the hell was this man? How was it possible that he could make Dean happy in ways that only Sam used to? He just couldn't understand it, couldn't fathom that someone else had taken his place, that Dean cared about someone other than him.  
  
Sam lay the blade across his lap and shifted his car into drive, following the man down the lane. Along the short drive, Sam had completely worked himself up into a writhing fury. Dean belonged to him, and no one else would have him. No one. His hands clenched hard on the steering wheel as he followed the man's car to where it pulled into the driveway of a small house. Sam drove past, and turned down the next road, parking his car.  He looked at his watch, and set himself a timer for an hour, leaning his seat back to wait.  
  
\-----  
  
Sam had been following his big brother around his whole life, as soon as he learned how to walk. They played in the yard together, they ate their meals together, they watched cartoons together. They were always together, even sharing a few shy kisses when Sam was just short of hitting puberty. To Sam, his big brother Dean was everything.  
  
It was when he was sixteen and he tried to kiss his brother again, that Dean had turned away and told him that they were too old for that cute stuff. He’d decided then that he would go to college and prove to Dean that he was worth it. Dean would be proud of him. Dean would want him again. However, Dean hadn’t seemed sad at all when a couple years later, Sam announced he was moving out. He’d even helped Sam pack up his things and carry them to his car. Sam told himself that when he had a fancy degree, he would come back, and Dean wouldn’t be able to resist him.  
  
So, Sam started studying at a local community college, while Dean sold the family house and  got his own apartment. However, Sam never stopped caring about his older brother. And that was how he found himself parked outside Dean's apartment tonight.  
  
It was during his spring break, so he had a lot of free time. 'Just happened to be in the neighborhood,' was the excuse if Dean saw him. His reason was to check up on his big brother, see what he was up to now that they were apart.  
  
Truth was, he was completely obsessed with his brother. They didn't talk that much anymore other than calling on the weekends, but Sam knew everything about Dean. He knew that Dean worked as a mechanic just down the street, where his favorite burger place to eat lunch was, that he got home at five PM on the dot. He knew that Dean shopped for groceries at the Safeway on Third Street, that Dean's chosen liquor store was the Cork & Barrel, and that Dean's favorite bar was the Slow Ride Roadhouse.  
  
It never seemed odd to him, to keep following his brother around like this. The only difference was they weren't little kids anymore, and Dean didn't know. Sam only watched from afar. Dean seemed to be carrying on just fine without him, and it drove Sam mad. He wanted to be there at Dean’s side like when they were young, but it wasn’t exactly normal brother behavior.  
  
\-----  
  
Sam was startled awake when his alarm went off, and he sat up quickly, bonking his head on the low roof of the car and knocking his knife to the floor in the process. He scrabbled for it in the dark, then tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans as he stepped out of the car. He shut the car door quietly, giving it a gentle bump with his hip to make sure it shut properly, and locking it with the key instead of the remote.  
  
As he walked around the corner to the man's house, Sam pulled some black gloves from his jacket pocket, tugging them on to hide his prints. They were thin cotton gloves that barely protected from the chill, but they would do. Taking a careful glance behind him, he then crept towards the side of the house. Most of the windows were dark, except for one on the second floor. Through the shades, Sam could see the man he was looking for. Those carefree blue eyes were with alight with joy, mouth turned up in a soft smile. The way the man moved rhythmically around the room made him think that maybe he had some music playing, or was dancing to music in his head, but Sam couldn’t hear from outside.  
  
The man moved about the room, arranging some clothing on a chair by the window and checking his phone for messages, or maybe setting an alarm for the next morning.  
  
Sam stood under the shadow of a the tree just outside the man's window, watching him prepare for bed, until at last, he drew the curtains together, and moments later, the light went out. Sam sighed and looked down at his watch. He would give it another twenty minutes before going in.  
  
As the minutes ticked by, his hands began to shake. He frowned and drew the knife from his back pocket, flicking the blade open. He pulled off one glove and ran his thumb over the edge of the knife, breath drawing in as he felt the cold metal pressing against his skin. He didn’t press hard enough to cut, but he could still feel just how sharp the knife was. He would feel it soon as the point dug into the hot flesh of the man inside. Sliding the tip over his palm, he sighed to himself at the tingling that washed over him, stilling his nerves. He had to do this. Dean belonged to him. He would tell the other man before slitting his throat.  
  
Sam closed the switchblade and pulled his glove back on, the handle of the blade tucked in his palm. With his other hand, he dug into his jacket pocket for his lock pick set. Killing, he'd never done before, but picking a lock? That he was good at. Luckily his brother never asked him about the little things that got moved around the house when Sam stopped by unannounced. He never asked about the small things Sam had taken, such as the book that was currently on his shelf back at home. That was one of his favorite things to take, books. He’d take a new one every time he visited, trading in the old one.  
  
Crouching in front of the door, Sam held a small flashlight between his teeth while he worked the lock open gently, smiling as he heard a small click.  The light and lock pick were tucked away while he slowly eased the door open. Stepping inside, Sam closed the door just as quietly and peered into the darkness, letting his eyes adjust. To one side, a kitchen and to the other, the living room.  
  
Sam headed for the living room first. He needed to know what kind of man had stolen his brother's heart. The house looked normal enough. Next to the fireplace was a huge floor-to-ceiling bookshelf absolutely crammed with the classics. It was too bad this man had to die. They might have gotten along well. Maybe when the place was sold, he would stop by and pick up some of the books.  
  
A large clock ticked gently near the long couch. It was an antique grandfather clock, assembled from solid wood pieces and was perfectly in time. It loomed tall, just over his head, and Sam paused for a moment to watch the pendulum swing back and forth, the low tok-tok-tok like a heartbeat.  
  
Over the fireplace was a large flat screen TV, and across from that was a long couch. How many times had Dean and the man sat together on that couch watching movies or simply staring into the fireplace, warm not only from the blaze but from each other’s heat?  
  
Sam frowned and turned back to look for the stairs near the front door. His hand glided gently on the railing as he took the first few steps. One creaked, and he paused, hands pressing down on the railing to lift his weight slightly off the stair. Hearing no movement above him, he carried on, keeping his footsteps near the edges where the boards wouldn't bend as much.  
  
At the top of the steps, there were three rooms. The door to one was ajar, and inside was a computer system set up on a desk in the corner. Other than that, it seemed to be a storage room, full of memories packed inside cardboard, never to be seen again. The second door was also partially open. When Sam gently nudged it open, he found a bathroom. Nothing interesting to be seen there, besides a counter covered in hair products and moisturizers.  
  
The last door was closed. Sam leaned in close to listen. It was dead silent inside, no sounds of movement. This was it. Sam could feel his heartbeat picking up in his chest. Once he opened the door, there was no turning back. He bit back a grin as he turned the doorknob ever so slowly. Then, he began to push the door open and step inside.  
  
The bedroom was simple. A bed and a dresser, and a small bookshelf. In the middle of the bed, the man with the dark hair lay sleeping peacefully. Sam could see his chest rising and falling in long, even breaths. As he moved closer, the man shifted in his sleep. Sam froze, thoughts spinning to a million different directions. What if the man knew who he was? Or worse, what if he got caught?  
  
Sam shook his head. If he was going to do this, he couldn't put it off any longer. Flicking the blade open, he reached out with his other hand and covered the man's mouth, gripping firmly. At once, bright blue eyes opened and looked around in confusion, his sounds of panic muffled. Sam pressed the knife to the man's throat as he leaned in closer, hovering not more than a foot over his face. "Don't move. Don't cry out."  
  
When at last the man's muffled sounds died down and he laid still, staring up at him in fear, Sam crawled up onto the bed and straddled him, the blankets keeping the man's arms pinned.  
  
"What is your relationship with my brother? Why does Dean trust you so much?" When the man began to squirm and make muffled sounds again, Sam pressed the blade harder against his pale throat, drawing a few drops of blood to the surface. "Answer carefully," he warned as he lifted his hand away from the man's mouth.  
  
The guy just blinked at him and swallowed nervously, stuttering as he spoke. "We ...we've been dating for a f-few weeks now. Met at a pub in town after work. But how should I know why he trusts me? You should ask him!"  
  
Sam sighed, lips pressing together firmly in a disappointed scowl. It didn't seem like he was going to get very many answers. However, at the same time, he was relieved that they hadn't been involved long. It wouldn't take Dean long to get over this man. He leaned in closer, his free hand resting on the man's chest to keep the knife from sinking in too soon. "What's your name?"  
  
Blue Eyes stared up at him, breath coming in shallow gasps as he tried to inhale carefully without causing the sharp steel to dig in. He was clearly fighting the urge to squirm, trying to suppress his occasional quivering. "Castiel."  
  
Sam chewed at his lower lip, taking only a moment to hesitate and think it over. He'd come this far. "Castiel," he began, his gaze slipping from the man's eyes down to the blood welling at his throat. Red and blue made such a beautiful contrast. "You don't deserve my brother. He belongs to me."  
  
Before he comprehended what he’d done, blood was spraying up in his face. He'd dragged the knife quickly across Castiel's throat, leaning his weight into it to make sure he slashed the main artery.  
  
"No, please--!" was all the blue eyed man got out before he was gurgling and writhing beneath him, causing his crimson blood to stain the covers and leak out of his pretty mouth. Sam closed his eyes tightly, both hands moving to Castiel's chest to hold him down while he waited for the thrashing to stop.  
  
It only took a few minutes for him to bleed out and finally fall still. Sam slowly opened his eyes and stared silently at the mess of blood spread across the upper portion of the bedspread. Lifting his hands, he found that his gloves were soaked with blood. It was splattered up his arms, on his shirt, his face. His knife nearly slipped from his hands as he struggled to wipe the edge of the blade on a clean patch of the blankets before closing it.  
  
Sam didn't know how long he sat there bathed in blood, just looking at the knife, avoiding the dead man's eyes. The blood splashed on his face was beginning to dry and flake. He'd been quick to cut the man's throat before he could scream too loudly, but someone still might have heard something. Though even more alert, Sam still found himself unable to move. He'd really done it. He'd killed someone. Earlier that day, he wouldn't have ever thought that he'd end it covered in blood. On the bright side, Dean would be his again. Things could go back to normal. First, he needed to clean up and get out of here.  
  
His movements felt sluggish as he tucked the knife away in his pocket and climbed off the bed, padding down the hall to the bathroom. He peeled his gloves off inside out, then washed his hands where the blood had seeped through the thin fabric, watching as crimson swirled down the drain. He grabbed a large white towel hung up by the tub and began to wipe the blood off his face and arms. He didn't need anyone outside to see him if he was caught. Then he peeled off his shirt. He balled up his gloves and his shirt inside the towel, folding it all up so the blood stains faced the inside. Glancing at himself in the mirror, his eyes widened at the sight that greeted him, then forced a nervous smile. His dark hair was a mess, some stuck to his pale forehead, still damp with blood, but it wouldn't be too noticeable in the night.  
  
Sam stepped back and turned away, taking the towel with him, and careful not to touch anything else, he made his way down the stairs. He used a clean corner of the towel to turn the doorknob, and crept outside. For a moment, he stood by the door, listening to the night air. The sound of crickets and frogs greeted him. Sam continued down the path and around the corner, his pace picking up as he neared his car. He tossed the bundled up towel in the trunk.  
  
Shutting the door firmly behind him, he locked it on reflex and wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel, frozen for a moment as he looked at his hands. Hands which had been stained with blood, red still clinging under his fingernails. He shook off the thought. This was all good. He could have Dean again soon. Everything would be okay. He jammed the key into the ignition and started the engine.  
  
In what felt like only moments, he was pulling up in front of his apartment building. He climbed the stairs up to the second floor and pushed his key into the lock, easing the door open. Once inside, he searched under the kitchen cupboard for a garbage bag. Then, he hurried back outside and pulled the bloodied towel from the trunk, stuffing it and the clothing inside into the bag. He tied a couple secure knots, and stuffed the bag in a dumpster a couple buildings over.  
  
Sam hurried inside, and went straight into his bathroom. His shoes were kicked off as soon as the door shut behind him, and then he was stripping off every article of clothing. He would wash them later, but at least he was safe inside his apartment now, the most offending evidence gone. He turned on the shower as hot as he could stand, and stepped beneath the spray, hissing in pain as the heat flooded over him. He had to wash off the blood, any trace that he had killed a man tonight.  
  
As he lathered the shampoo into his hair, pale crimson dripped on the floor of the tub, and as he rinsed it, a swirl of pink foam joined the rest. He grabbed a washcloth that had been hung up near the soap rack and squeezed a generous amount of eucalyptus body wash onto it, then proceeded to scrub at his skin until it was flushed from abuse, surely a few layers of cells disappearing as he cleansed away the stains. He paid careful attention to his hands, his nails, his face, his neck, and any surface that had been splashed or soaked with blood. When he finally turned off the scalding water, his body was red and tingling from the heat.  
  
He wrapped himself up in an old tan colored towel, and exited the bathroom, steam flowing out around him. He quickly went to the front door and double-, triple-checked the lock. It was bolted, the safety chain latched. Wet footprints on the hardwood floor followed him as he turned away, bee lining for his bedroom.  
  
He pulled on a pair of thin pajama pants and an old t-shirt, toweling off his hair before climbing into bed. It wasn't until his head hit the pillow and he'd pulled the blankets up to his chin that the adrenaline started to wear off. He stared at the dark ceiling above him, and he wasn't sure when he'd drifted off, only that he woke to sound of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, his phone ringing distantly.  
  
\-----  
  
  
Sam grumbled sleepily as he struggled to get out of bed and follow the ringing into the bathroom where he'd left his clothing. He dug in his jean pockets, and first pulled out his knife, rust-colored blood dried around the casing. On the second try, he retrieved his phone from his other pocket and flipped it open, pressing it to his ear.  He could barely get out a "Hello?" before the panicked voice of his brother sounded in his ear.  
  
"Sam...he's gone! He's...he's dead."  
  
Sam glanced down at the knife in his hand. "Dean? What are you talking about?" He only hoped the tiredness in his voice was enough to make him sound genuine.  
  
He could hear the tension in his brother's voice as he spoke. "My boyfriend, Cas, he's dead. They found him with his throat slashed at his house."  
  
Sam drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly to compose himself as his heart began to race. He thought back to the scene, trying to remember if he'd left anything behind or exposed himself. He'd been careful, he was sure of it. "Did anyone see who did it?"  
  
Dean was nearly babbling by now, and by the sounds of sniffling, and his short gasping breaths, he was crying. "No, it probably happened in the middle of the night. Most of the neighbors were sleeping. They didn't see anything." There was a few seconds where he could hear Dean's panting breaths, before he spoke again. "They think I did it, Sam! I couldn't! I really cared about him."  
  
Sam continued to breathe deeply while he listened. A wave of relief rushed over him, glad that at least the police didn't suspect him. "Hold on, Dean. I'll be there as soon as I can."  
  
Dean gave him the address, and then they said their goodbyes. He hit the END button, and staggered to his feet, first heading back to his room. He tucked his knife into the back of the bottom drawer in his nightstand, then went to gather up his stained clothing from the bathroom floor. He shoved it into the washer and took off everything else he was wearing, adding it to the load, too. Even his shoes went into the water. He poured in the detergent, and a splash of bleach as the warm water filled the washer. He scrubbed his hands under the running water, before hurrying back to his room to find something to wear.  
  
He pulled on some blue jeans and a purple t-shirt with the silhouette of a white dog in the middle. He hadn't worn it in a while, and it was getting a bit small on him. Then he pulled on his sweatshirt and headed for the door. He paused, and went back to check his reflection in the mirror. He turned this way and that, checking to make sure he was clean. He nodded and laced up his grey converse before leaving his apartment, locking the door behind him.  
  
On the drive over, he told himself again and again that everything would be okay, but when he pulled up in front of Castiel's house and saw the cop car with its flashing lights out front, his hands began to shake on the steering wheel. A police officer stood by the car, and he could see Dean sitting on the front steps, arms around his knees. Sam breathed in deeply before stepping out of his car.  
  
Dean looked up as he heard the car door shut, but stayed put on the steps. The officer moved to block him, but Sam raised a hand in greeting. "I'm his brother, just let me talk to him." The man nodded and let him pass, and Sam hurried up the sidewalk.  
  
Dean's eyes were rimmed with red, but he seemed to have stopped crying. Sam sat down beside his brother and pulled him close, arms wrapping around him. Dean tensed in his hold, and Sam rubbed soothing hands up and down his back.  
  
"Hey, it's okay. Talk to me. What happened?"  
  
Dean slowly began to relax against him, shaking minutely as he spoke. "Cas and I had plans to go out for coffee this morning. When he didn't arrive at the coffee shop, I tried calling him and he didn't answer. Eventually I just picked up a cup of his favorite and took it to his place, thinking he'd slept in and misplaced his phone."  
  
Sam nodded, focusing on the rhythm of his hands along Dean's back while he continued.  
  
"He didn't answer the door either, so I started checking the windows. His car was in the driveway, so I knew he was home. And...I found him upstairs in his bedroom. I saw him, Sam. Blood all over the sheets. I yelled his name, even though he couldn't be alive with that much blood.  It was terrible, seeing him laying there, eyes still open."  
  
By now, he could hear Dean's voice starting to falter again, like it had over the phone. Sam pulled back to look down as his brother, and sure enough, fresh tears were starting to well up. Sam didn't know what to say. He wasn't sure if he could speak. It hurt to see Dean upset like this. He only wanted to make Dean happy, but that would have to wait for now. He just lifted a hand to Dean's face, his thumb gently brushing away the tears from under one eye, then the other. "Why don't you come over to my place? I'll make you some breakfast. Staying here isn't going to help. You need to get somewhere that won't remind you of him."  
  
At first it looked like Dean was going to refuse, but he slowly nodded and pulled back from Sam's embrace, wiping the back of his hand over his face.  He stood, walking with Sam out to his car, Sam's hand on his lower back guiding him. Sam gave the officer a small smile as they approached.  
  
The policeman moved onto the sidewalk to block them. "You can't take him yet, we need to question him at the station."  
  
Sam narrowed his eyes, his arm slipping around his brother more firmly, protective. "On what grounds? Do you have proof that he was involved?"  
  
The officer didn't budge. "He was the only one at the scene when we arrived. We have to look into all possibilities."  
  
Sam shook his head, stepping closer, towering over the man. "That's absolute crap. Don't you think he's been through enough already today? He didn't do it. I'm taking my brother home, and you can question him later when he's had some time to think."  
  
After giving the officer his number, they were finally allowed to pass.  Dean got into the car, staring ahead numbly as he buckled in. Sam shut the door before going around to his side, starting up the car. As he drove, he reached across and laid a comforting hand on Dean's knee.  
  
Dean brushed his hand away, his voice flat. "Sam, you need both hands to drive."  
  
Sam just nodded silently, moving his hand back to the wheel. Dean would warm up to him soon, he was sure of it.  
  
When they arrived back at the apartment building, Sam got out of the car first, and looked back, watching Dean slowly pull himself out of the passenger seat, as if it took all the effort in the world just to move. Sam led the way up the stairs, holding the door open for his brother. He sat Dean down on the couch and draped a soft blanket around his shoulders. "Stay here, I'll be right back."  
  
When he returned, he'd brought back a steaming cup of tea, which he set down in front of Dean. "Drink. I'll make us some food, and then we can talk."  
  
Dean nodded once, and wrapped his hands around the warm mug, but didn't drink yet, just staring at the steam as it rose from the amber liquid.  
  
Meanwhile, Sam bustled around behind the kitchen counter, still within sight, and glancing over at Dean while he cooked. Soon, he brought over two small plates of bacon and eggs and toast, setting one in front of his brother, the toast already buttered.  
  
Dean just frowned at the plate of food. He felt so sick to his stomach right now after seeing Castiel, that he wasn't sure he could eat. "Sam, you didn't have to."  
  
Sam shook his head and took a seat in the armchair adjacent to the couch, reaching over to put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "I wanted to. I want to help. It's what brothers are for."  
  
He shifted over to the couch where he could sit next to Dean, hand sliding over the soft blue blanket to his brother's other shoulder, and watching as he slowly raised the mug of tea to his lips, taking a long sip. Sam smiled at this. Progress. "Do you want to talk about him?"  
  
Dean didn't look up as he took another sip of the tea, and slowly the heat began to come back to his face. He began to relax against Sam, nodding gently.  
  
"We met at the pub near my work. I'd had a long day, and when someone sat down next to me at the bar, I didn't think much of it. But then, I turned to say a quick hello, and there were the most gorgeous blue eyes looking at me. He just...he stared at me for a moment, with a lopsided smile and said, 'You look like you've have a rough day. Can I buy you a drink?' And I said yes, Sam. No one's ever bought ME a drink. I'm usually the one buying drinks for people." He glanced up as Sam shifted to pull him closer, both arms now sliding around his waist. After another sip of his tea, he set the mug down on the coffee table before leaning against Sam's chest, continuing.  
  
"I didn't know him very long, but he was great. Haven't felt like that about someone in a long time." By the time he'd finished talking, they'd both slid until they were laying back, Dean stretched out at Sam's side, his head on his brother's chest. Sam soothed his fingertips through Dean's short hair. Dean's eyes were slipping shut. Sam made soft 'sshh' sounds as he rubbed slow circles on Dean's back. "Close your eyes, Dean. I'll be here when you wake up, I promise."  
  
And Dean did close his eyes. Sam watched as he drifted off to sleep. He wasn't surprised in the least. After an emotional start to a day, Dean was likely exhausted. His hands continued in Dean's hair, gently massaging his scalp until his wrists tired. And then, he just laid his hand on the back of Dean's neck, a smile curving up his lips. It felt so good to have Dean in his arms again. Their breakfast lay abandoned on the table, but that was okay. Everything would be okay now. He would convince Dean to stay, and then they could wake up together, and eat breakfast together every morning.  
  
Dean's sleep was fitful. Flashes of red swam through his dreams. He saw Castiel's bright blue eyes widen, saw him gasp his last breath. A cut appeared on Cas' throat, and suddenly blood was flowing from his eyes, his mouth, his throat. "Cas, no!" he yelled, as the blood flooded outwards in every direction.  It didn't move like any fluid he'd ever seen. It moved like the room was being painted by an invisible force. The color spread all at once, down over the bed and onto the floor, then up the walls until it met in the middle of the ceiling. Dean knelt on the bed, and looked at his hands. He was clean. Everything but him was covered in red, and he was clean. Why was it that Castiel had died, and he was still here? Maybe if he'd gotten to Cas' house sooner, he could have been saved. Tears began to run down Dean's face and when he rubbed them away, he found a smear of red on the back of his hand. More red dripped onto his hands from his eyes, and Dean ran out of the room, horrified. He didn't look back until he'd made it out of the house. He hadn't realized he was yelling out loud until he found himself being shaken awake.

 

  
  
He opened his eyes, and looked up with a start, finding Sam shaking his shoulder. "Dean, wake up! It's okay. You're okay."  
  
Dean quickly rubbed at his eyes, and looked at his hands. He found only ordinary tears.  He sighed in relief, and settled down against Sam's chest. He could still envision the red blood covering Castiel's bedroom.  
  
Sam was looking at him, concerned. "Whatever you saw, it was just a dream. I'm here."  
  
Dean found himself being drawn upwards by Sam's hand under his chin, his brother looking deeply into his eyes. "You okay, Dean?"  
  
Dean drew in a slow breath as he returned Sam's gaze, hazel eyes searching green. No, he wasn't okay. He didn't know if he would be okay. Not yet. But Sam was here, and Sam would make it okay. Maybe he would stay for a little while. Just a few days until he was feeling better.  
  
Sam always made him feel better. When they were younger, and Dean was feeling down about something, maybe it was school, or maybe their father had scolded him about staying out too late, Sam was always there. Dean would have one hand pressed to his forehead in frustration, another around a bottle of beer, drinking until he couldn't see straight when he was much too young to be drinking, and little Sammy was there, a hand on his knee. When Sam was with him, he didn't feel quite so alone anymore, and the sadness of missing their mother didn't bury him so much.  
  
Maybe it was the grief confusing him, or maybe he just wanted Sam to know how grateful he was. He wasn't sure what drew him in, but soon he was closing the distance between them. Sam smiled when their lips met, and moved his hand back to Dean's hair. Dean's hands fisted into the front of Sam's shirt as he pulled himself closer, kissing his brother slowly at first, but then the intensity turned desperate. Somehow, the human contact just made him feel alright. He wanted to forget the sight of the blood. He wanted Sam to make him feel better.  
  
When they broke apart, there were only mere inches between their mouths. "Sammy..." Dean whispered. Sam's big hands cupped his face, looking up at him with such love and adoration that he dove in again, capturing his brother's lips. Sam's hands slid down to his hips as Dean pushed himself up on his knees, thighs straddling Sam's waist, not breaking the contact of the kiss for anything. His hips rocked gently as their kisses became more heated, and Sam groaned underneath him at the friction.  
  
"Dean..." Sam moaned out low between kisses, and the sound made Dean freeze. "We can move to the bedroom if you want," Sam continued, smirking up at him. Dean bit down on his lip. He could feel how hard Sam was through his jeans, and Dean couldn't deny that all the heated kissing and grinding was getting him excited, too. He just...it felt weird to be doing this when he'd only found out about Castiel's death this morning.  
  
Dean pulled away, shifting his hips as little as possible. "I don't know if I can do this right now..."  
  
Sam leaned up, following him and not allowing Dean to put too much space between them. His hand caressed Dean's face gently, trailing down until his thumb ran over Dean's lips. "It’s okay, Dean. I'm here. Let me make you feel better."  
  
And that broke Dean's resolve. Those very same words that his little brother always said to him when he needed comfort the most. Dean nodded, and kissed Sam once more before rising from the couch.  
  
Sam took his hand and led him down the hall to a small bedroom. He shut the door behind him and backed Dean towards the bed, hands sneaking up under his shirt while their mouths met again. Dean's shirt came off, and Sam's soon followed.  
  
Dean tumbled back on the bed, and Sam was on top of him in a flash, hands fumbling at the button of his jeans and tugging them down until he lay on the bed in just his boxers. Dean felt his face flush as he watched his brother stripping off his own pants and underwear, before kneeling between Dean’s legs.  
  
"I'll make you feel so good, Dean. I'll make you forget everything." Sam whispered as he leaned forward, hands at Dean's sides on the bed, placing a few soft kisses along his collar bone and down his chest. The soft touches trailed down his stomach and paused at the waistband of his boxers, which were tented with arousal. He could hear Dean gasping, and he spared a glance upwards, the sight making his cock twitch and leak.  
  
Dean's body was spread out before him, flushed pink, his chest heaving. He glanced down when Sam paused, and the questioning look in those hazel eyes prompted a, "Do it."  
  
Sam smiled and shifted down the bed, pulling Dean's boxers down his legs and tossing them aside. Then he was up between Dean's legs again, his hot mouth kissing and sucking gently along Dean's cock.  Dean's breath hitched sharply in his throat, and his hips arched up off the bed, a high moan escaping when his brother's mouth enveloped the head of his cock. Sam's tongue slid over the slit, gathering droplets of precum, and then sucked hard, coaxing more slick from him.  
  
Dean's hands grasped the cotton sheets at his sides as his brother slowly went down, taking in as much of his cock as he could, one hand gripping the base loosely. As he pulled away, his head tilted to suck at the sensitive spot just under the crown, tongue flicking over it, causing Dean to lean up and bury his hands into Sam's hair.  
  
Sam laughed low in his throat at Dean’s enthusiasm before he went down again, starting to bob up and down on Dean's cock. Hazel eyes peered up through his bangs, and it drove Dean wild to see his little brother with a mouth full of cock. He moaned loudly and thrust up into Sam's mouth, brushing his dark hair out of his face, just so he could see those pretty eyes water as his cock hit the back of Sam's throat.  
  
Sam coughed as he pulled away, swallowing the taste of Dean's precum, his hand lazily stroking up and down his brother's cock. He glanced up, dark eyes narrowed, and leaned forward in one smooth moment, his free hand pressing to Dean's chest. He pushed Dean flat on his back and crawled up, both hands running down to lift Dean's legs and spread them further. His nails raked along the underside of Dean's thighs.  
  
Leaning forward, he captured Dean's mouth in a biting kiss, a soft growl escaping as he pulled away to murmur, "I'm going to fuck you, Dean, and it's going to feel amazing, so deep inside you." It wasn't a question. It was a statement. He was going to do it, and from the look in Dean's eyes, and his reddening face, he wasn't going to mind at all.  
  
"Please," Dean murmured as he settled back on the bed, lips swollen from Sam's teeth biting into them only moments before.  
  
Sam hummed in appreciation as his eyes grazed over Dean's spread form, before reaching into the side table drawer for some lube. He poured some onto his fingers and circled one around Dean's hole, smiling as it clenched in anticipation. "Ever done this before?" he asked as he glanced up, finding Dean's mouth open in a silent gasp. What he really wanted to know was if Dean had done this with Castiel. But whether he had or not, Sam was still going to have Dean right here and now. The answer didn't matter, and he didn't give Dean time to think about an answer as he pressed his middle finger in slowly. He would still claim Dean, maybe just a bit rougher if he needed the feel of another fucked out of him.  
  
This time an audible gasp came out of Dean, his thighs shaking slightly. He shook his head, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "No," he said at last, glancing down at his brother. "Nothing more than my fingers." What he saw made him shudder again. Sam's soft smile had turned into a downright lustful grin.  
  
Dean was innocent, for him to take and him to love. Him alone. It sent a rush through Sam, eyes widening before he dripped a bit more lube onto his fingers. He pushed in a second finger, twisting them gently to spread the lube. "That's okay. Just relax and let me do the work."  
  
And Dean did, laying his head back and breathing deeply, soft moans escaping when Sam crooked his fingers forward to rub against his prostate. Sam licked his lips as he watched Dean squirm. It made his cock throb between his legs, and he had to curl a hand around the base, squeezing tightly to stave off his arousal.  
  
Sam picked up the pace, sliding his long fingers in as deeply as he could before pulling back and finally adding a third finger to stretch Dean further. He watched his brother's expression, noticing him start to tense up. "Relax," He reminded Dean, free hand moving to rub the outside of his thigh.  
  
Dean nodded and breathed, loosening up gradually and allowing Sam to move his fingers again. When he pulled his fingers out, Dean whined at the emptiness, but Sam hushed him. "Sshh, soon, Love."  
  
Sam wiped the rest of the lube onto his cock, adding a little extra before gripping the base and shifting forward to line up with his brother's slick hole. As he pressed inside, he quickly wiped his hand clean on the sheets before looking up while he eased his hands under Dean's thighs.  
  
Dean had never felt so full. A low moan rumbled out of him as Sam seated himself fully inside, hips pressed to Dean's backside. Sam rocked gently, pulling away a fraction before pressing forward again a few times. His hips stuttered, and his hands clenched their grip under Dean's thighs. The very fact that Dean had still been a virgin was making it hard to control himself. Dean was so damn tight. He had told Dean that he could make this good for him, and that meant starting slow, though he wanted nothing more than to fuck Dean hard, ruin him so that he would never want anyone else again. That urge was intoxicating. 'Mine, mine, mine,' echoed in his head as he pulled out almost to the tip, then eased in agonizingly slow once more.  
  
" 'm not gonna break, Sammy," Dean gasped out as Sam filled him again, reaching up and pulling him down. His hands dug into Sam's hair, tugging him into a rough kiss, teeth nipping at his lower lip.  
  
If those words hadn't been enough, the biting and hair pulling were. Sam moaned loudly and pushed Dean's thighs up to his chest, holding just under his knees while he returned the frantic kisses, head tilting as his tongue forced its way into his brother's mouth. Meanwhile, his hips began to piston in and out at an even pace.  
  
At some point, Sam's hands let go of Dean's knees and wriggled under him and around his back. Dean's legs wrapped around Sam's waist, hands clutching at his shoulders. Their kiss broke as the pleasure increased to something indescribable, both brothers moaning, one high as his prostate was pounded against over and over, the other making low groans and grunts as his hips snapped forward.  
  
Sam nudged Dean's chin up, mouth finding his throat where he licked away the salty sweat. His lips pressed over the pulse point just under Dean's chin, and he bit down, sucking hard for a moment, before nibbling his way down to bite harder at the crook of his neck. Dark bruises began to form as Sam reached Dean's shoulder, suckling there as well.  
  
He could feel Dean clenching around him, feel his short hair against his neck as his brother buried his face against Sam's shoulder. Dean's moans arched higher, and Sam held him tighter, hips slamming harshly against him.  
  
"Fuck...!" Dean cried out, as his orgasm snuck up on him, and he suddenly spilled between them, muscles tensing and arms throwing themselves around Sam's neck. Sam gasped sharply when Dean's inner walls squeezed around him so tightly. He had to pause for a moment to let Dean come down from the high enough to relax, before fucking into him again at a slower pace.  
  
"So good for me, Dean," he moaned low, his thrusts picking up again until his own orgasm built. He buried himself deep, and when he came, he came hard, filling Dean up with hot jets of his come. His hips finally slowed as he finished, arms loosening around him but never letting go. His inner litany of 'Mine, mine,' must have escaped his brain at one point, because he heard Dean whisper back, "Yours."  
  
Sam smiled and held his position on his knees, squeezing Dean gently and placing a few kisses along his neck while his heartbeat pulsed in his ears. "Mine," he whispered again, as he gently pulled his hands out from under his brother, trailing them up into his hair where he massaged gently at Dean's scalp.  
  
Dean sighed softly, melting under his touch, and not seeming to have heard him, because he had gone completely limp. Sam tipped his head to the side, and saw that Dean's eyes were closed in bliss. It was okay if Dean didn't say anything. Dean was his. Sam's come painting his brother's insides was proof of that.  
  
When at last Sam pulled away, sitting up to reach for his shirt, Dean blinked sleepily up at him. He smiled as Sam began to wipe the puddle of come off his stomach before closing his eyes again. Sam chuckled softly. "Good?" he asked as he folded the shirt in half, and lifted Dean's hips up to slip the shirt underneath while he pulled out. While he wiped his softening cock clean on an edge of the shirt, he watched his come begin to leak out of Dean's well abused hole.  
  
Dean nodded faintly, shifting and allowing his hips to be moved before settling again. "Really good. So good." And that seemed to be all he would say, as he went silent again, breathing deeply and smiling in the haze of the afterglow.  
  
Sam wiped Dean clean before tossing the shirt aside. Then he lay down and tucked himself against Dean's side, curling one arm around him. Dean shifted so his back was pressed to Sam's chest. Not a single thought was on Dean’s mind as he drifted off. He was happy and sated, and there was something so perfect about how Sam fit against him, chin nestling against his shoulder, soft breathing warm on his neck.  He heard Sam sighing happily, and felt Sam's lips kissing the side of his neck as he drifted off to sleep.  
  
\-----  
  
  
A few days later, there was a service for Castiel, which they both attended, dressed in perfectly pressed black suits. Dean kept his eyes cast downward, expression blank, while Sam watched silently as the priest said kind words over the casket. The funeral was a closed casket, for which Dean was glad. He didn't think he could have looked at Castiel again without envisioning the blood splattered on his chest, his blue eyes open but dull. Sam's hand lay gently at the small of his back, a warm comfort at what otherwise felt like a cold, formal ceremony.  
  
Sam drove them both back to his apartment after that, and they changed out of the uncomfortable suits, laying down on the couch to press together in companionable silence, Sam's fingers running soothingly through Dean's hair.  
  
A few more days passed, and during that time, they were inseparable. They were pressed together at the hip, except for when Sam had to cross the room to fetch something, and Dean would be waiting patiently where he'd left him.  
  
Dean stayed at Sam's apartment, and after a couple days of borrowing Sam's clothes, they'd gone back to Dean's to pack a few changes of clothes. Dean didn't want to be alone, and Sam was more than happy to let Dean stay with him as long as it took for Dean to be okay.  
  
They had sex a few more times after that, and for Dean, it seemed to be therapeutic, because it was the only thing that made Dean sigh happily and make all those other sweet noises. For Sam, it was a rush, to hold his brother in his arms again, to have him close at all times. Every night they would fall asleep together curled up in each other’s arms.  
  
Dean was quiet most of the time, but as the days turned into weeks, the life began to come back to his eyes. He hadn't known Cas that long, he explained, but it had still been a traumatic experience to find his recent lover covered in blood. It haunted Dean’s nightmares for the first week, and Sam would awaken him, shaking him and whispering sweetly in his ear.  
  
Companionable silence turned to comfortable smiling, and soft laughter as they cooked dinner together, and ate together, and watched movies together. Dean always rested against Sam's chest as they lay in the dark, only the television flickering to light their faces.  
  
\-----  
  
A few weeks after Castiel's death, Sam was cooking in the kitchen, and he asked Dean to get his iPod from his room. Sam had wanted to listen to some music while he cooked, and Dean had offered to go find it. "Should be in nightstand top drawer!" he shouted after Dean. Sam stirred the pot of soup on the stove, breathing deeply of the scent of the herbs and vegetables.  
  
Dean nodded and went back into the bedroom, bee-lining straight for the nightstand by the bed. He pulled open the top drawer and rifled through the miscellaneous items, which included pens, lube, spare change, even. However, Sam's iPod wasn't there. "It's not here, Sam!"  
  
Sam frowned and stayed put in front of the stove, not wanting the soup to burn. He was sure he'd put his iPod back in the drawer. He was usually very well organized. "Keep looking, I'll be there in a minute!" He turned off the burner and stood in front of the stove for a minute, stirring the soup gently until the bubbling slowed.  
  
When he came around the corner into the hall and neared his bedroom, it was very quiet. Strangely quiet, when he would have expected a lot of rattling around from Dean searching through the nightstand.  
  
Everything was pulled out of the top drawer and dumped in a pile on the bed. Sam’s iPod wasn't among the items there. The bottom nightstand drawer was open, and Dean sat on the floor next to the bed, staring at something in his hand.  
  
It was the knife. The switchblade that had killed Castiel. And there was still dried blood around the edge of the blade where he'd never cleaned it properly. He'd tossed it in the drawer and forgotten about it.  
  
Dean looked up, startled. His eyes held confusion and disbelief. He couldn't seem to get out the words to ask.  
  
Sam went pale, his skin starting to break out in a sweat. He slowly walked closer, holding out a hand. He took in a slow breath. Dean couldn't have made the connection. "Give it to me, Dean."  
  
Dean frowned and drew his hands to his chest, holding the knife to him. He had to know. "Why do you have this, Sam? Whose blood is it?"  
  
Sam's heartbeat was increasing as he knelt down in front of Dean, still reaching for the knife. "It's just a hunting knife. Was out with some friends a few weeks back."  
  
"Why didn't you clean it? The blade is gonna be rusted shut from moisture," Dean questioned, glancing down at the knife. There was indeed some rust in amongst the dried blood. So it was true, that it had been this way for a while.  
  
"I was just tired, Dean!" Sam snapped, finally reaching out to quickly snatch the knife away, clutching it tightly in his fist. "You shouldn't have been looking around in my stuff like that. I told you, top drawer."  
  
He nudged Dean out of the way so he could put everything else back in the top drawer, carefully aligning everything in its place. Behind him, he could hear Dean scooting away from him.  
  
Sam sighed, turning back to look at him. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to snap at you."  
  
Dean shuffled back quickly, getting to his feet. The expression on his face looked absolutely horrified as he reached behind himself for the door, keeping his eyes on his brother. "You....it was you. You killed Cas, didn't you?"  
  
Sam's heart just about exploded from its quick, harsh beating. "W-what do you mean?" He stuttered out.  
  
"I'm not stupid, Sam. I can always tell when you're lying, and you look nervous as hell right now." Dean now stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame, as if he might collapse without its support. He looked about ready to bolt, but he was frozen in place by fear. "Sam...why?"  
  
Sam frowned for a moment, his eyes averted. When he looked up, his gaze held the same intensity as when he'd pushed Dean down on the bed their first time. A fierce, possessive gaze.  One of someone who liked getting what they wanted. "I had to, Dean. He was in the way. You belong to me, and he was trying to take you away from me. I couldn't let him do that."  
  
Dean's mouth dropped open in shock, unable to stay any longer now that he knew the truth. He turned and took off down the hall, socks skidding on the hardwood floor as he headed for the door.  
  
Sam smiled and ran after his brother, the knife still in his hand. His longer legs allowed him to catch up quickly and he lunged forward, knocking Dean to the floor. They slid a few feet on the shiny wood, Dean gasping and struggling against the sudden grip around his waist. "Get off me, Sam! Please, you need help!"  
  
Sam's eyes lit up with glee as Dean squirmed under him. He shifted around, getting his legs on either side of Dean to straddle him. He tucked the knife between his teeth while he grabbed at Dean's wrists, pinning them against the floor by Dean's head. He shifted both wrists into one of his big hands so he could take the knife from his mouth. "All I need is you, Dean. You won't get away from me this time. You're mine."  
  
Dean shuddered and looked away. Now he remembered. Sam whispering 'Mine, mine, mine' in his ear their first night together. And now he knew what Sam had really meant. And he had responded in the heat of the moment, 'Yours.' He shook his head and continued to squirm, bucking and yanking in an attempt to pull his wrists free. "Let me up, and I'll call some people who can help you. Please, Sam. We can talk this out."  
  
Sam sighed as he watched Dean writhe. It didn't matter if Dean didn't want him right now. Dean wouldn't be getting out of his sight from now on. He flicked the switchblade open with some difficulty, smirking as flakes of blood and rust fell from the now rough edge. "I can't," he said simply, his eyes turning sad as he looked down at Dean, who had gone still at the sight of the knife. He tilted the knife this way and that, inspecting the metal before wiping it on his jeans to brush away the flaked blood.  
  
"I love you, Dean. And I know you love me too," Sam started, turning his attention back to his brother, the knife raised, but not threatening. "You might not realize it yet, but you will."  
  
Dean was starting to shake as he watched Sam clean the blade, then just hold it so casually, as if it were a conversation piece, not something that had once killed, and could be used to kill again. "Please let me go, Sam. I promise I'll stay with you. I just need you to put the knife down."  
  
Sam shook his head, turning the knife in his grip, so that the sharp edge faced Dean. "No, I can't let you go. Not again. I can't let anyone else have you." He seemed to pause for a moment, his expression shifting between hesitant, and pained. Dean wasn’t going to stay. He would bolt the moment Sam looked away. If he couldn't have Dean, then he had to make sure no one else could either.  
  
He raised the knife and brought it down quickly, the slender blade fitting between Dean's ribs and going straight into his heart. Blood bubbled to the surface immediately, and Dean gasped sharply, red starting to trickle out of his mouth.  
  
"Forgive me, Dean." His grip on the knife slowly loosened while he watched a pool of blood begin to spread around Dean.  He had gone still for the last time. Dean would never be able to run from him now. His gaze slowly moved upwards from the blood stain on the front of Dean's shirt, following the arch of his throat, and up to his mouth where blood had stopped oozing, but had dripped down the sides of his face. His gaze slid over Dean’s nose, and finally his pretty green eyes.  
  
Sam had always thought those eyes looked like the color of leaves in the spring time, or like vines in a jungle. But most often, they looked the color of soft moss. Now, they were faded. They were a dull green. They held no life, only staring up at him blankly.  
  
Sam pulled the knife out of Dean's chest, holding it loosely as he crawled forward, hands resting on either side of his shoulders. He slowly leaned down, and pressed his lips to Dean's. Blood smeared onto his own lips, and when he pulled away, he turned to wipe it on his shirt sleeve. Dean's body temperature was already starting to go down as the blood in his body left him. His lips were cool and unresponsive. Dean would never leave him.  
  
Dean really would never leave him. Dean would never run. Ever.  
  
Dean would never look at him with those gorgeous green eyes, wrinkled slightly at the corners when he smiled.  
  
Dean was...gone.  
  
This wasn't how Sam had wanted him. Sam had wanted Dean to love him. To press his warm body close and kiss him. They would make each other happy, for as long as they lived. But Sam had lost control.  
  
Sam slowly pulled away, sitting up and looking at the knife which was now covered in Dean's blood. They could be together again, he realized. They would be together forever.  
  
Sam turned his opposite hand over, bringing it close to see the veins along his wrist. He brushed his thumb over the jagged blue lines, before bringing the knife to his skin.  
  
"I'll see you soon, Dean."  
  
Sam bit down on his lip as he quickly dragged the blade along his left forearm, following the line of the vein to his wrist, then the other. The knife clattered to the floor.  
  
He watched with morbid curiosity as the own blood seeped out of the cuts, flexing his fingers and then clenching his hands into fists. He watched the blood begin to drip onto the Dean's body below him. He lifted his wrists, and moved his hands over Dean's heart, the blood trailing down over his brother's chest. His blood was mixing with Dean's.  
  
He smiled as he pressed his hands firmly to Dean's chest, causing his wrists to bend, and Dean's chest to compress. The pain from his wounds being pulled open further made him shudder. Blood from Dean's heart gushed from the wound, and Sam's blood joined it, flowing more quickly now.  
  
He was starting to feel lightheaded, and he laid himself down on top of his brother, cheek resting against his shoulder. His eyes slowly slipped closed, and he smiled. He knew that he would be with Dean again soon. Forever.  
  
"…soon, Big Brother..."

 

 

 


End file.
